


The Plan

by suburbanomad



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Currently PWP, F/M, M/M, Multi, but there's more planned for after this, in the distant future
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-02-25 06:31:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2611850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suburbanomad/pseuds/suburbanomad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky has an idea. Peggy has a better one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky can’t believe he’s doing this. Sure, it had seemed like a good idea a half-hour before, when he’d been preparing, running over the plan again and again in his head, trying to get everything right. Now, though, he’s pretty sure it’s all going to go to hell and he’ll be lucky if he doesn’t end up court-martialled. He should fall back, regroup, gather some fucking intelligence before just charging in like some --
> 
> “Come,” Agent Carter calls in response to the knock at her door.
> 
> Ah, the hell with it. No plan survives first contact with the enemy, anyway. Bucky draws himself up to full height and opens the door.

Bucky can’t believe he’s doing this. Sure, it had seemed like a good idea a half-hour before, when he’d been preparing, running over the plan again and again in his head, trying to get everything right. Now, though, he’s pretty sure it’s all going to go to hell and he’ll be lucky if he doesn’t end up court-martialled. He should fall back, regroup, gather some fucking _intelligence_ before just charging in like some --

“Come,” Agent Carter calls in response to the knock at her door.

Ah, the hell with it. No plan survives first contact with the enemy, anyway. Bucky draws himself up to full height and opens the door.

Agent Carter’s room actually smells like a dame is living in it, but maybe that’s the lingering effect of the German noblewoman who’d owned it until this morning, when the Howling Commandos had commandeered the chalet. Bucky has no idea. Usually he isn’t half-bad at figuring out women  -- certainly better than Steve, anyway -- but Carter plays things way too close to the vest. Maybe it’s a British thing.

“Sergeant Barnes,” she drawls, glancing up from an open report on her desk.

“Ma’am.” He throws her a salute.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?”

_Focus on her face, Barnes, her **face** \-- one glance south of her neckline and this whole thing will fall apart._

“It’s about Steve -- Captain Rogers, ma’am.”

“Somehow, that does not surprise me, Sergeant. You’ve been thick as thieves since your rescue.” Is it just his imagination, or does she sound just a little… bitter about that? “I trust you’ve made a full recovery?”

Not really, but what is he supposed to say?

“Uh, yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

“You may remove your hat, Sergeant,” Carter tells him, in a way that has it off his head in a heartbeat. She gestures casually to the chair placed before her. “And take a seat, if you’d like.”

“If it’s all the same to you, ma’am, I’d prefer to stand.”

That earns him a significantly longer glance over the top of the file.

“Suit yourself,” she says, dropping her dark eyes back to the page and reaching for a pen. “What do you need from me?”

“Well, that’s just it, ma’am,” Bucky begins, eyes drawn by the motion as she signs the bottom of the document with an authoritative scribble. “It’s not about what I need. It’s Captain Rogers -- Steve.”

Carter flips open a red ink pad and stamps the document. Hard. Bucky has the distinct impression that he’s trying her patience.

“Go on.”

“He’s in love with you.”

That gets her to pause, halfway through folding up the memo. She skewers him with a look.

“I’m sure you must be mistaken, Sergeant,” she replies in terse, clipped tones. She runs a nail down each fold and fishes an envelope from the desk. Color rises in her cheeks. “After all, half the company knows you’re fucking.”

The swear makes the statement like a slap across his face.

“Wh-what?” Bucky stammers.

“I do not enjoy being toyed with, Sergeant,” Carter growls, stuffing the envelope with perhaps a bit more force than is strictly necessary. “Nor do I have any inclination to subject myself to the camp rumour mill by playing dumb for any man’s benefit, not even Captain Rogers.”

“Look, he has nothing to do with me talking to you --”

“Of course he doesn’t,” Carter snaps back, cutting him off. “He, at least, is a man of honour, unlike some I could mention. If he had any knowledge that you intended to harass me in this manner, you would not be standing here.”

She wets the envelope with two precise swipes of her tongue and stamps it again before rising.

“Now, if you are quite done insulting my intelligence for one evening, I’ve a message to send to General Eisenhower --”

“Wait!”

Bucky cuts her off with a yank to her elbow, which startles him almost as much as it seems to unnerve her. He hadn’t even felt his hand grab her as she made for the door.

“Listen, lady,” he growls, abandoning all pretense of military decorum and forcing her to meet his eyes. “You can hate my guts all you like, but Steve’s still crazy about you, and it’s because he is that we’re even having this conversation.”

Carter sets her jaw stubbornly -- so like Steve, they’re perfect for each other -- and Bucky drops his grip on her immediately, hands in the air in a placating gesture.

“I just can’t let him pass up something that might genuinely make him happy because of some sort of misplaced sense of loyalty to me,” he admits, crumpling under the weight of her glare. Carter draws back slowly, straightening her blouse with a sharp tug to its front. Her eyes narrow, but to Bucky’s great relief she sinks to perch on the arm of the chair she’d offered him earlier.

“Explain,” she commands, crossing her arms with the envelope tapping against her hip. “Quickly.”

Bucky runs a hand through his hair and thanks his lucky stars there aren’t MPs busting in the door after that stunt. He allows himself a shaky breath before he speaks.

“Look, the thing you’ve got to know about Steve is, sometimes he has these ideas about how the world should work, that completely disregard what you or I might call ‘reality’.”

“I’m familiar.” Carter glowers. The tapping picks up pace.

“Right,” Bucky agrees, fumbling for his next point, “so you can see why, even though he wants to sleep with you -- and who wouldn’t, you’re gorgeous and brilliant and more than a little terrifying -- he lets himself get hung up on the chivalrous notion that he shouldn’t just because I got there first.”

That earns another glare, so he barrels on before Carter can open her mouth.

“And I guess what I’m saying is, maybe he doesn’t have to choose. Maybe --” he pulls himself up a little, trying not to look as ridiculous as he feels “-- maybe, we could share.” He flashes a gracious little smile, the kind he’d used back in Brooklyn all the time after Steve had left yet another girl in the lurch.

Carter blinks. “‘Share’?” she repeats, incredulous. “Like he’s, what? A library book?”

Bucky grimaces at the comparison. “I… guess? I’ve never done this before.” Carter rolls her eyes and sighs heavily, and Bucky can’t help himself from frowning. “Look, I’m not about to just give up the only good thing that’s happened to me in this entire war, but if I go and, I don’t know, trip over a land mine tomorrow, I want to be sure he’s at least got someone who’ll look out for him.” He crosses his arms defensively. “You and me both know he’s got a big, stupid heart and the whole world’s out to break it.” Bucky meets her eyes, gaze serious. “I want to believe that doesn’t gotta happen.”

Carter gets to her feet, a hand under her chin as she begins to pace the room thoughtfully.

“You’re the only person I’d even think of trying this with,” he tells her, letting his voice soften. “The second he saw you in that red dress, I knew that was it. Steve would never say it himself, but he’s nuts about you, and it’s tearing him up, being caught in the middle like this.”

“You aren’t afraid I might steal him away from you, with my wily, womanly charms?” Carter asks, something almost like humor sparkling in her eyes. Bucky can’t help himself from looking her up and down like he had that evening.

“If we were talking about anybody else,” he confesses, “I’d be hoping you might run off with me, instead.” He meets her eyes through his lashes and adds, as an afterthought, “Ma’am.”

Carter’s mouth twists up into an amused little smirk that sends a spike of fire right through his gut. _Watch it, Barnes,_ some tiny part of him cautions as she stalks towards him, _a lady like that probably doesn’t take too kindly to insinuations she might be more than a one-fella kind of gal--_

She grabs the front of his uniform and yanks him down for a kiss that tastes of lipstick and the slight sweetness of envelope paste. Bucky pulls back after a moment, when she lets him go, with the distinct impression he’s just been claimed.

“Fortune favours the bold, Sergeant,” she tells him, reaching up to thumb away some lipstick from the corner of his mouth. “And you may call me Peggy.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so there's some stuff wrong with military decorum in here. If you noticed it, please forgive me. If you didn't, then you saw ~nothing~


	2. Steve, part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Much too soon he’s at Peggy’s door, and the daydream vanishes as quickly as it came. It’s wartime, and he’s a soldier with a job to do. He knocks quickly and enters without waiting for a response. They’re expecting him, after all, and Steve knows better than to keep Peggy waiting. It’s surprisingly dark inside, not pitch-black, but dim, lit by only a few small lamps, and Steve wonders how they’re going to read the maps.
> 
> Then he catches sight of Bucky and Peggy, and that’s the last time Steve thinks about maps for awhile.

Steve doesn’t know what to make of it. He’s fresh out of a press conference when a nervous-looking private catches his attention to tell him that Agent Carter and Sergeant Barnes are expecting him in her quarters for an urgent strategy meeting. An icy lump of fear hits him in the gut. Peggy… and Bucky? An emergency meeting? Shouldn’t Howard or the Colonel be informed? Could there be some sort of infiltrator in the ranks? He all but runs to the wing of the house where Peggy’s been given rooms.

Despite the war -- and the horde of soldiers tramping through the halls on a constant basis now -- the place still retains an air of stately elegance that tugs at his artistic sensibilities. Were he here at any other time, for any other reason, he’d almost want to stay awhile, take in the scenery. He could get up at dawn for a run in the lovely mountain air, then out to the valley to sketch landscapes all afternoon. Peggy would be reading on a picnic blanket beside him, Bucky napping peacefully nearby, a daisy-chain of flowers in his hair…

Much too soon he’s at Peggy’s door, and the daydream vanishes as quickly as it came. It’s wartime, and he’s a soldier with a job to do. He knocks quickly and enters without waiting for a response. They’re expecting him, after all, and Steve knows better than to keep Peggy waiting. It’s surprisingly dark inside, not pitch-black, but dim, lit by only a few small lamps, and Steve wonders how they’re going to read the maps.

Then he catches sight of Bucky and Peggy, and that’s the last time Steve thinks about maps for awhile. They’re waiting for him on the bed, Peggy with her back against the headboard in a creamy satin chemise and dressing gown, Bucky’s head pillowed on her thigh. Bucky isn’t wearing anything. He is gloriously, absurdly nude, and Peggy is running her fingers through his hair as casually as stroking a cat. There is something rich and dark and luminous about the two of them together in the low light, pale skin gleaming against the ornate coverlet like a Waterhouse painting, and Steve can’t do much except freeze and stare.

“Uh,” Steve begins, because he feels he ought to say something, but nothing materializes. It’s beyond his power to feel jealousy, or betrayal, or really anything but the terrifying sensation of being caught, because it’s as if someone has taken his daydreams of Austrian meadows, stripped away all innocent pretense and set it out before him like Christmas dinner.

“Steve?” Peggy calls.

He gropes behind his back for the doorknob.

As if sensing Steve’s mounting panic, Bucky uncurls himself from his place on the bed and darts across the room to catch him. His warm, steady, frighteningly real hands cup both sides of Steve’s face. “Woah, woah, woah, dummy,” Bucky says. He pecks him, softly, on the lips. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Oh, God,” Steve gulps miserably. Maybe, high on a victory and flush with delusions of his own grandeur, he had once or twice considered what it might be like to have Peggy and Bucky with him in the same bed, but --

“Breathe, pal, just breathe,” Bucky coaches him, and despite the utter outlandishness of the situation he sounds just like he always does, like he always did back in the old days, talking Steve down from an attack. He runs his hands up and down Steve’s arms and shushes him quietly. “It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

“Well, so much for ‘decadent seduction’,” Peggy observes dryly. She’s up on one knee now, the other long, stockinged leg trailing to the floor, and a hysterical little corner of Steve’s brain recognizes that they’re silk stockings, practically worth their weight in gold these days. She’s wearing _silk stockings_ to _seduce him_.

“But you hate each other!” Steve blurts, gesturing helplessly between them. Something makes Peggy’s mouth twist up in a wry little smile as she stretches along the length of one intricately carved bedpost. Her robe is short and only loosely tied around her waist.

“Do we really, James?” she asks, barely feigning innocence. “You forgot to mention that part.”

“This was a bad idea,” Bucky grumbles, in the way Steve knows means it was _his_ bad idea.

“Why are you _naked_?” Steve demands, because this whole situation requires some immediate clarification.

“Because I ain’t got any sexy lingerie,” Bucky snaps sarcastically. Then he bites his lip and looks chagrined. “We thought it’d be a nice surprise. So, uh. Surprise?”

“ ‘We’,” Steve repeats, “as in both of you. Together.”

“That was rather the idea, yes,” Peggy says in that tucked-up sort of way that means she’s dangerously close to taking offense. She stalks across the room towards them.

Bucky grips the back of Steve’s neck to make him focus. “Look. For once in your life, when I’m giving you a chance to be something other than just noble and heroic and self-sacrificing, can you stop arguing with me and just take it?”

Steve looks from Peggy to Bucky and drops his gaze, unable to meet their eyes. “I-I thought I already was,” he confesses. Sometimes just having Bucky feels like too much to ask. This is -- this can’t be right. It’s selfish. He can’t ask for something so unfair to both of them. He turns to Peggy helplessly. “Come on, Peg, you don’t deserve this.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Peggy’s spine stiffens, eyes dark with anger, and the only thing that surprises Steve about the slap across his face is that it isn’t a punch to the jaw.

“Don’t you dare, Rogers,” she hisses, dangerous but without venom. “Don’t you dare try to tell me what I do or don’t deserve.” She glares up at him, eyes glittering with defiance, and Steve shrinks in on himself a bit. Peggy’s hair is pinned like a crown around her head, her tiny feet shining in their stockings against the ruined carpet, and every inch of her is as regal as a conquering queen. She balls her fists at her sides.

“Peggy--” he begins, weakly.

“Do you love me?” It isn’t a question, not really. It’s a way to state a fact without hurting her pride.

“Yes,” Steve breathes.

“And have you ever, in your entire adult life, given two bits about what other people think about you?”

Steve closes his eyes, suddenly ashamed of himself. “No,” he admits.

He’s startled by a brush of lips against his own, and he looks down to find her hands pressed against his chest, her face inches from his. She’s so very beautiful, and his heart hammers as he covers her hands with his own.

“Then kiss us and come to bed,” she says, as if it’s as simple as that.

And it is.


	3. Steve, part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He has just enough presence of mind to spare a kiss for Bucky, who joins them, before Steve’s making his way down the line of Peggy’s throat, nipping her collarbone and mouthing the soft curve of her shoulder. She threads her fingers through his hair and laughs a little, delighted. God, he’s never heard her laugh like that but he wants to make her do it again and again.
> 
> “I’m sorry, James,” she chuckles, not particularly apologetic. “I seem to have quite stolen him from you after all.”

Bucky’s mouth is soft and warm, always so strangely gentle the first few times until he sighs and then it’s like a dam breaking. Before Steve can get swept away, Bucky pulls back and now it’s Peggy claiming him, lips and teeth and tongue, one hand at the back of his neck while Bucky guides both of them back to the bed. Peggy sits, her fingers tucking into Steve’s belt loops, and she tilts her head back to look up at him, mouth serious but eyes sparkling with mischief.

“James,” she says, never breaking eye contact with Steve, “could you help me?”

“Yes ma’am,” Bucky chuckles, his breath warm at Steve’s ear. “Stay right where you are, buddy. We’ll take care of this.”

Steve swallows and attempts to stay still while two sets of hands begin to go about undressing him. He keeps his eyes locked on Peggy, feeling Bucky’s warmth at his back, and when he summons up the courage to reach out and cup her cheek she rewards him with a soft smile and a kiss against his palm. It’s such a simple gesture, but it makes his heart leap into his throat. All at once Peggy stands, tugging the hem of his shirt over his head while Bucky pushes his trousers to the floor. Steve is grateful that Buck goes with them to help slide off his boots, because as soon as he’s free of the top of his uniform, Peggy has him pressing every available inch of skin against her own. His hands glide over the satin of the slip at her waist, and he buries his face in her hair. Does she wear perfume? There’s some soft, earthy scent to her he can’t name, warm and womanly but at the same time wild and stirring, like a breath of wind off some not-too-distant sea.

She captures him in a claiming kiss that he tries to return with all the feeling in his entire body, and as soon as Bucky frees him from his second boot Steve loops a hand beneath her bottom and scoops her onto the bed, a knee between her legs and a hand pressed against her shoulder blade. He has just enough presence of mind to spare a kiss for Bucky, who joins them, before Steve’s making his way down the line of Peggy’s throat, nipping her collarbone and mouthing the soft curve of her shoulder. She threads her fingers through his hair and laughs a little, delighted. God, he’s never heard her laugh like that but he wants to make her do it again and again.

“I’m sorry, James,” she chuckles, not particularly apologetic. “I seem to have quite stolen him from you after all.”

“I don’t mind. I’m enjoying the show.” Steve can almost hear the leer in Bucky’s voice, and he takes it as a signal to keep going when Peggy reaches up to let one, then the other strap of her chemise slip free from her shoulders. She shrugs a little and the lace (black lace -- the stark contrast against her skin is almost shocking) and satin slip away to reveal the swell of her breasts, her nipples dark pink and inviting. Steve lets out a strangled moan, and Bucky breaks into a grin.

“I can be a generous man,” Bucky drawls, watching as Steve cups her breast with one hand and strokes his thumb over the nipple. “Besides, none of those dumb dames back in the States would give Steve the time of day. He’s never seen a naked woman outside an art gallery.”

“I have too,” Steve snaps before he can think better of it, and the startled look they give him makes his ears grow hot with embarrassment.

“No shit,” Bucky whistles. “Who?”

Steve suddenly can’t look either of them in the eye, and drops his hands to the covers. It feels wrong touching Peggy like that when he’s talking about another woman.

“One of the chorus girls,” he admits. “Agnes. She’s not over here --” he glances momentarily at Peggy, who has an eyebrow raised. “She, uh, didn’t tell me she was engaged. Her fiance got back right before we shipped out. I guess she must be married by now.”

Steve’s sitting back on his heels, bracing himself for Peggy to kick him out. At the time, he’d never thought he’d see her again, and Agnes had been smart and friendly, and, well, there. He’d let the whole Captain America thing go to his head, he knows that now, and the shame of it had kept him from wanting to tell even Bucky about it. He should have just kept his big mouth shut.

“It’s not my first time, either,” Peggy says, instead. Steve balks at that, though he’s not exactly sure why. Sure, he’d suspected Stark, but when Howard denied it… he guesses it never occurred to him there might have been someone else.

“It’s no one you know,” she says evenly. “And you’ll never meet him. He died in the Blitz.”

Steve’s heart contracts painfully, and he reaches for her. “Peggy, I’m so sorry.”

She sits up and takes his hand. “Blame Hitler. I certainly do.” She drops a kiss against his knuckles and smiles bravely, and in that moment Steve wants nothing less than to raze Berlin to the ground. “But none of that. We’re here, now.” Peggy nods at Bucky. “The three of us.”

And trust Bucky to always know how to lighten the mood. He grins and leans in to give Peggy a quick kiss on the mouth. “We are,” he agrees, shooting Steve a wink. He captures her mouth in another kiss, which to Steve’s surprise (and remarkable pleasure) Peggy deepens. Bucky groans shamelessly when Peggy takes his hand and puts it against her breast, and Steve feels himself going hard again as he watches them gently wringing pleasured gasps and moans from each other. Peggy’s hands card through Bucky’s hair, and when Steve realizes their bodies are angled to give him the best view, he has to grip himself tightly at the base of his cock to keep from getting too worked up too quickly. His half-pained groan seems to break their concentration on each other, and Peggy and Bucky pull apart just enough to smirk in Steve’s direction.

“See something you like, Stevie?” Bucky asks innocently.

“Boy, do I,” Steve admits, and he’s not ashamed to say it. He pulls first Bucky, then Peggy into a kiss, desperate to get his hands back on them, and Peggy’s little moan into his mouth is so sweet he has to lick his way inside, to taste her and Bucky and just sigh against her lips. Bucky watches appreciatively, a hand on the back of Steve’s neck, which he then trails down to rest at the small of Steve’s back.

“You’ve gotten better at that,” Bucky teases. “Told you back in Brooklyn you weren’t a hopeless case.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not exactly an update, more like a scrap I had already written but had meant to post once I wrote more. I have plans -- perhaps over-ambitious ones -- for where this goes from here, but I could really use some encouragement. Please let me know if you'd like more by leaving a comment!


	4. Steve, part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’ve gotten better at that,” Bucky teases. “Told you back in Brooklyn you weren’t a hopeless case.”  
> Peggy clears her throat and pulls away a bit, but she drops a hand to clasp the back of Steve’s arm before he’s startled off.  
> “Were you two...” She sweeps a bit of her hair back over her shoulder with a toss of her head, perhaps to hide the way she won’t quite look Steve or Bucky in the eye. “... together? Back then?”  
> There’s a few seconds’ ugly pause when she glances back up, face unreadable. Steve breaks out in a sweat.  
> “...yes,” he admits.  
> “No!” Bucky yelps, at exactly the same time.

“You’ve gotten better at that,” Bucky teases. “Told you back in Brooklyn you weren’t a hopeless case.” 

Peggy clears her throat and pulls away a bit, but she drops a hand to clasp the back of Steve’s arm before he’s startled off. 

“Were you two...” She sweeps a bit of her hair back over her shoulder with a toss of her head, perhaps to hide the way she won’t quite look Steve or Bucky in the eye. “... together? Back then?”

There’s a few seconds’ ugly pause when she glances back up, face unreadable. Steve breaks out in a sweat.

“...yes,” he admits.

“No!” Bucky yelps, at exactly the same time.

Steve whips his head around to shoot Bucky a look of consternation.

“ _ What? _ ” he demands.

Bucky’s expression sort of folds back into itself, from denial to alarm. “What??” he echoes with a helpless shrug. “We weren’t!”

Steve turns his body towards him, brow furrowed. “We  _ had sex _ ,” he points out, punctuating the words by tapping the bedspread between them.

Now Bucky’s frowning, too. “What, the night I shipped out?”

“Yes!” Steve hisses.

“That was barely heavy petting!” Bucky protests, defensive.

“Well, I ca--” Steve chokes back what he’s about to say, suddenly reminded of their audience as Peggy’s chuckle cuts through the tension like a knife. He turns back to face her, face growing a bit hot.

“I didn’t realize it was such a difficult question,” she teases them, propping her cheek against a fist. She looks absurdly beautiful like that, breasts bare but pose as casual as if they were at a bar chatting over drinks. “That answers it well enough, I suppose.”

Bucky gives Steve a sidelong glance that hasn’t been seen since their double-dating days before he leans in towards Peggy with a conspiratorial smirk. Those dance halls in Brooklyn seem like a lifetime ago, but Steve feels the same familiar spike of foreboding as Bucky wets his lips.

“You know, there’s something I ought to tell you before we go too much further,” he tells her. Peggy arches an elegant eyebrow.

“Oh?” 

“I’m not sayin’ it’s a bad thing, but Steve’s a little… sensitive.” 

_ Oh no. _

“Sensitive?” Peggy repeats.

_ He wouldn’t. _

“You’ve got to learn to take it as a compliment,” Bucky goes on, and Steve tries to remember why this bastard has been his best friend since childhood.

“What do you--”

“I come early,” Steve blurts, unable to take the torture any longer. Peggy whips her head to look at him, and he rubs his face for a moment so he doesn’t have to meet her eyes.

“You… what?” she asks, incredulous. At least she sounds almost as embarrassed as he feels. Steve pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Not every time,” he explains, not sure whether he’s digging himself out or just deeper into this hole, “it’s just when it’s been awhile --”

“Like more than 48 hours,” Bucky supplies unhelpfully. Steve bites back a frustrated growl and gives into the temptation to reach out and shove him, gently but firmly, into the mattress. Face-first.

“-- or when I’m particularly  _ excited _ ,” he continues, pointedly ignoring Bucky’s muffled protests, “I tend to climax. Quickly. The first time.”

“The… first time,” Peggy echoes, processing this. “Let me guess -- super-soldier stamina?”

A wry little smile twists her lips and Steve gamely decides to let Bucky up for air. He can’t really say anything and so he just spreads his hands wide and shrugs, feeling a little smug at the way the thought seems to light up Peggy’s eyes. Feeling brave, he takes a chance and starts crawling towards her, gazing at her through his lashes and letting a little grin play at the corner of his mouth.

“I get it right back again,” he assures her, and just talking about it has him hardening up, the weight of his erection growing against his thighs as they brush back and forth with the motion of his approach. Peggy’s eyes are drawn to it and he can’t help but bite his lip against a smile he knows has got to make him look like the smuggest song of a bitch in the entire European Theater.

“Is that so, James?” Peggy asks, eyes never leaving Steve’s cock. She’s reclined against the pillows again, posture cool and collected, but Steve can’t help but notice she’s begun to breathe just a little bit fast. He holds her gaze as he feels Bucky slide up behind him.

“Whattaya say we give the lady a little demonstration, Stevie-boy?” Bucky murmurs into his ear, hands gliding up along Steve’s flanks and around front to play over his chest. Steve feels a shudder run through his body, though whether it’s the sensation of Bucky’s touch or Peggy’s obvious interest, he really couldn’t say. He tips his head back to lean against Buck and doesn’t fight the moan that slips out of him when lips press hot against his shoulder. Steve can feel the brand of Bucky’s erection brush against his ass and he reaches back to grip Buck’s hair for a quick, warning tug.

“What do you think, Peggy?” he pants, eyes fixed on hers. His hips give a little involuntary twitch and he grunts, trying to keep it together. “You want a little peep show?”

He almost can’t believe he got the words out, but the dazzling grin she gives him is like a damn ticker-tape parade.

“Why yes,” she breathes, tucking her legs up beneath her. “I think I’d like that very much.”

Steve turns his grip on Bucky’s hair into a caress, reaching around with his other hand to pull their bodies flush together, and now it’s Bucky’s turn to let out a low grunt of pleasure. He tilts his head to the side and gives a sinuous roll of his hips, loving the feeling of those hands gripping at him as Bucky’s forehead drops forward and he bucks into the motion, cock sliding along the crack of Steve’s ass.

“Well, Sargeant,” Steve chuckles, making no move to touch himself. “You heard the lady.”

“Officers,” Bucky groans before he pulls his face from Steve’s neck and rests his chin on his shoulder. “Always making promises the rest of us gotta keep.” But one of his hands drifts down to grip Steve’s cock while the other slides around to grip him tight across the chest, and whatever Steve had meant to say comes out as a long groan instead.


End file.
